Hypnagogia
by Sophia2012
Summary: Hypnagogia: The transitional state between awareness and sleep. A place where reality seems fiction and where fiction just might be real.  Neal/Sara, Peter/El & Peter/Neal post Judgment Day.
1. Chapter 1

**Hypnagogia**

The transitional state between awareness and sleep.

A place where reality seems fiction and where fiction just might be real.

Neal/Sara & Peter/El - post Judgment Day.

**Chapter 1:**

It was there, she knew it. The answer to all the questions this investigation had driven her crazy with. Sara sighed with frustration as she not so gently put down the file on her salon table. She put her hands on her waist and took a deep breath. "Alright, yoouu…" she prolonged the word as she was gathering her thoughts to recap this case, before she continued: "You were staying at the Regis from April 4th till 16th, we got the call on the 18th, giving you at least two days to strip the necklace and sell the diamonds…_If_ that's what you did. Well it's what most thief's would do right? But you're not a common thief are you?"

Before she had time to ridicule herself for thinking out loud, Sara was startled by the ringing of her doorbell. One look at the surveillance screen and smiled as she recognized her visitor and buzzed the door open for him. "Peter, come in."

By the time Peter was in her apartment, Sara had already returned to her case files. "Hi, Peter." she greeted him distractedly and only half her body turned away from the table.

"Oh, I know that look." Peter said playfully.

"What look? I don't have a look."

"Ooh yes you do. It's that almost-Tasmanian-Devil-look. You're on to something aren't you?" He guessed.

Sara smirked at his remark and fully turned around this time, one eyebrow raised. "Tasmanian Devil, really? Couldn't go with something a little less…hairy?"

"I once called you a tornado in heels?" He tried.

"Ooh, I _like_ it!"

"Yeh, I thought you might." He smiled as he handed her what he had in his hands. "Here are the background checks you requested."

"Oh, thank you! This will definitely get me a step closer." She eagerly took the files from his hands and started flipping through the pages.

"Don't mention it. So, what'd they do?"

"Hmm, I _think_," she stated carefully, "_both_ stole 500.000 dollars worth of Verdura jewelry, using _one_ identity: Richard Steele. 'Richard' has been spotted in Sacramento _and_ Chicago."

"So, which Richard has the stuff?"

"I don't know," she admitted helplessly, "I'm hoping your work can give me some new info on them. See where they were staying before and after, take a look at their financials. Hopefully there's something there to give me a concrete lead," she sighed before she changed the subject. "Anyway, can I get you anything? A beer?" she started towards the kitchen when he stopped her.

"Ah, I can't, I actually have to get going."

"Okay, sure, some other time then."

"Definitely. You mind if I use your bathroom before I leave though? Got a long drive ahead of me and I really have to go."

Sara laughed, "Yeh of course, you know where it is."

As Peter walked off to the bathroom, Sara took a seat and and began absorbing the new information Peter brought her, almost greedily.

He knew it wasn't his business, but he couldn't help it: he was worried. He cared about Sara. In the eleven years he's known her, she grew to be more than just an "acquaintance". He knew she'd never admit it, but Sara felt the same way; they were - in a strange way - kinda like brother and sister: he was always looking out for her and she was always looking out for him.

That's why he just had to do it.

He flushed the toilet to mask the sounds he would be making as he was opening the doors to the bathroom cabinets, looking through her personal stuff. Her shampoos, conditioners, hair coloring products and other toiletries. Part of him felt guilty for doubting her strength and herself as a person, part of him felt he was violating their relationship based on mutual respect and trust, but the main part of him was just worried.

He had never been able to get the image of the 19 year old girl, curled up in fetal position in a snow covered alley in Brooklyn, wearing nothing but a nightgown. Her hair – longer and brown – had been wet and dirty, and was spread all around her head, covering most of her face. Her skin – fragile, like porcelain, so breakable and almost see through – was covered in blood. He remembered how, when he turned her around on her back and her hair fell back, life was drained from her face. Though this was eleven years ago, the memories were still fresh in his mind.

Sara had come so far. Become a completely different person, strong and independent. Someone she could be proud of. _He_ could be proud of. He wasn't going to let anything – not even Neal leaving – compromise that. Yes, he was sure, he was doing the right thing. Was he overreacting? Maybe, but Peter was probably the only person in the world to know her true weaknesses.

As Peter closed the last cabinet door, he let out a relieved breath. No painkillers. Not even an aspirin.

He got up from under the sink and turned on the faucet to feign washing his hands when the corner of his eye caught something. He frowned to himself, almost trying to laugh off his crazy thoughts, after all; it couldn't ever be true.

Ignoring his own not so convincing reassurance, he bent down to the trashcan to take a closer look. His eyes grew wide and his hand searched for the edge of the sink. No, it couldn't be. It can't be.

Peter's confused and clumsy entrance into the room got Sara's attention and when she saw his face she got worried. "Peter?" His little too late "Hm?" response didn't exactly make her feel better either. She walked up to him to take a closer look.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeh, no, I'm fine, I'm fine. Think I stood up too quickly."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeh, I'll be fine, don't worry."

"Okay, well hold on, I'll get you some water." She guided him to a chair and left to get him some water. When she returned, however, he was gone. She put down the glass of water and ran to the window, only to see Peter driving off like his life depended on it.

She stood there for a while, frowning and going through the last minute in her head: What the hell just happened?

And then it clicked. She ran to her bathroom and looked around when finally her eyes found what must have sent Peter into shock.

Phone! She needed her phone. The person on the other side quickly answered:

"Sara?"

"Peter was here."

"And?"

"I think he knows."

"_What?_"

"I mean, I'm not sure, but he came out of the bathroom pretty flustered and…clumsy."

"Clumsy?"

"_Yes!_"

"Well did he say something?"

"No, I went to get him some water and when I came back he was gone."

"Maybe he doesn't suspect anything."

"Oh, he suspects something alright... We have to tell."

"I know, I know, I just… need time. Please? I just have to figure a few things out first."

When Sara didn't reply, the voice pleaded again: "Please?"

Eventually she sighed and gave in. "Alright."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

She chew her food carefully as she was taking in his every move, or lack thereof. Finally, she put her fork down and placed her chin in her hand as the table supported her elbow. "Honey, are you okay? You haven't said a word and you barely even touched your food."

She watched how her words slowly registered and he turned to answer with a smile. "Yeh, just… tough day at work, that's all." He tried to shrug it off.

"Oh, well, anything I can do to help?" Elizabeth offered cheerfully.

Peter started to shake his head when he stopped himself: "There's something you need to know."

"If this is another undercover playboy mission, I think it's best if I don't." she joked, but her smile quickly faded when Peter didn't even flinch at that. She stood up from her seat at the dining room table and walked over to his. Wrapping his arms around his neck, she rested her chin on his shoulder and her lips found his cheek, planting a light kiss.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Peter placed a hand on his wife's arm, pulled her around and sat her on his lap. He felt how her eyes were eagerly waiting to meet his, and after a few seconds he finally allowed himself to do just that.

"El, you know how Neal cut his anklet and fled?"

"Mhm."

"I kinda… well, I sort of told him to."

He felt how she straightened her back and saw how her eyes squinted. "You _sort of _told him to?"

"It was right outside the building, I was about to head up there and give my testimony on Neal's behalf, for his commutation, when Kramer walked up the stairs with Marshalls to arrest Neal. Little things, desperate last straws of hope for Kramer to take Neal, but with Neal's record… little things are big. I saw Neal walking up and I knew Kramer wouldn't let go." Peter took a breath, staring out the backdoor as he was remembering the last time he saw Neal. "So, I gave Neal the confirmation he needed: that he was no longer safe here. That he had to leave."

They were both quiet for a moment when Elizabeth finally spoke: "You've been dealing with this on your own for the last month? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wasn't even sure of what I did. I don't think I could even believe it."

Her response was a kiss on his forehead. "What made you believe it now?"

"I went to see Sara today."

"Sara?" Elizabeth asked surprised, "What does she have to do with this."

"I was worried about her, that maybe Neal leaving may have 'snapped' something in her. Bring back bad memories or something." He saw how she nodded with those wonderful understanding eyes. He was a little embarrassed to admit this part: "I told her I had to use her bathroom, but I just wanted to make sure she wasn't taking anything. And yes, before you remind me, I know she's strong and I know she hasn't used anything for over nine years and I know she is no longer the girl she used to be. But every time I think of the way I found her, I just… I can't help it, I worry."

Elizabeth smiled. She felt how a wave of emotions started in the pit of her stomach and crashed right into her heart. "You should never apologize for caring, I love you for that. But you don't need to worry, Sara and I had lunch two days ago and she was absolutely fine."

"I don't know about that."

"Why? What's wrong? Did you find something?"

"Yes." He looked up into his wife's eyes and took a moment before he continued. He wasn't stalling for effect or emphasis. He was taking a moment because he needed it. Because he knew that when he'd say the words he was about to say out loud, the situation would become real and undeniable.

Finally he took a breath: "I found a pregnancy test. It was positive." He looked up into her eyes, the guilt that was tearing him up inside, was spread all over his face: "I should never have told Neal to leave."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Life has taught her, but hardships and heartaches, how to appreciate the little things; It's not like her job allows her to be chipper and cheery every day. Neither does her personality for that matter.

But there were times – like these – that Sara found herself unusually happy. She'd feel bubbly and the world would seem as if it were made out of cotton candy, rainbows and soft silky clouds with butterflies fluttering and bunnies hopping all around. Well, as close to that description as possible at least. She was – after all – still the forever cynic who saw the world exactly for what it was: dark.

In her defense, however, it wasn't often that life would throw her something to cause a good mood.

So, when – as an insurance investigator – you've made a recovery worth 500K, pleased your boss, helped the NYPD catch two wanted thief's, close your own investigation ànd finish the paperwork all just after lunch, you've earned your right to a happy moment. Plus, it of course doesn't hurt that the NYPD detective you've worked with a couple of times, finally gathered up his courage and asked you out for tonight.

At first she was hesitant, because truthfully; what does she know about this detective, other then that he's from LA, moved to New York two years ago and that his name is Adam?

But, Sara soon decided she didn't care. She liked him and she liked spending time with him, but most of all: she liked how she felt around him, it was different. He was a breath of fresh air compared to her exes, who had a knack for the shady. She decided she could use the change, to do things a little different this time around.

So when she stepped out of the shower, wrapped her towel around her petite physique and walked over to the sink to brush her teeth, she wasn't too surprised when she found herself dancing towards the sink. She wasn't too surprised when she found herself swinging and twirling to the music playing on the radio. And when she finished brushing her teeth, she wasn't too surprised to see that there was a young woman in the mirror who was smiling at her.

In the middle of brushing her hair, she heard the familiar tunes of one of her favorite songs come up. Sara instantly turned up the volume and turned her brush into a microphone. Her body instantly moved to the beats of the song and as she was dancing towards her bedroom, the lyrics were loudly sung into her brush:

__

_My mama said, "You can't hurry love  
>No, you'll just have to wait"<br>She said, "Love don't come easy,_

_But it's a game of give and take"  
><em>

"Good song."

An involuntarily shriek left Sara's body the same time her heart decided to skip a beat, or two.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Two hours, a cab ride, some chitchat and smiles here and there, and a main course later, Sara's heart was still having a hard time falling back in its regular rhythm. Her mind seemed eager to portray a storm at sea, and her stomach was stubbornly not unknotting itself.

"Are you alright? You seem distracted. Is the food okay?"

Great, and now she felt guilty for ruining his night too.

"Everything's perfect," she smiled her best smile and hoped it reached her eyes. "This place is great, the food's delicious."

She took another bite of her strawberry bavarois and hoped that she could pull off the fake-sincerity. It wasn't like her to doubt her lying abilities, hell, even her job required her to lie perfectly from time to time. But seeing him, tonight of all evenings, shook her up. And she hated it. She hated that she couldn't get her mind to focus on here and now, on happy and new possibilities, on Adam and his honey-brown eyes and sincere modesty.

Instead, her thoughts kept trailing off to the events earlier this evening, at her apartment.

Just the thought of the scare he gave her, sent chills up and down her spine. And then she remembered her yell. God, why did she yell? She should have been stronger than, that. She shouldn't have let herself get caught off guard like that.

He made her jump and almost instinctively, and with all the power her weakened pulse had left her body, she threw her brush at her attacker, only to find out who it was two seconds later.

"Damn it, Caffrey!" she'd almost growled at him. She placed her hand on her chest hoping to calm down it's speeding rate. And then it dawned on her: Neal was here. He was here!

"What the _hell _are you doing here?"

"Is it true?" His tired voice had asked simply, ignoring her question.

"What?" she'd asked him confused, "Is what true?" She probably should have been mad at him; for leaving, for coming back, for scaring her, for not even saying "hello", for not even asking her how she's doing, for _breaking and entering_ her apartment _again_ and for whatever reason she could think of to be even more mad. But she was too confused. And yes, still a little shaken up.

In the darkness of her bedroom, with only the dim lights of the street lanterns illuminating the side of his face, she could hear him swallow loudly.

"Are you pregnant?"

"_What?_!" And there it was. The fire her body needed to recover from the scare. The anger her mind needed to recover from the confusion: "How dare you? First of all, you left. You – left. With no goodbye and no intention whatsoever to come back. And then you do come back and the first thing you do is break into my apartment _again_. You don't call, you don't say hello, you don't-" feeling her anger turn into something softer, Sara had stopped herself and sighed: "You don't have the right, Caffrey. And it's so damn tiring how that concept just doesn't seem to register with you."

Neal had taken a deep breath at that. She's right. Of course she's right. But ever since he found out about Peter's suspicion, truthfully, there was nothing else on his mind but finding out if it was really true. For a mind as brilliant as his with the ability to think of twenty things at the same time and still focus on one matter, it was very unusual to forget all else. But here he was, standing in her bedroom, knowing how true her words are, but not quite realizing it, for the very simple reason that his mind just can't process it.

Not knowing what to say, and quite frankly, not even wanting to put too much effort in being thoughtful at this moment – partially because he was just too tired, but mainly because he knew Sara well enough to know it wouldn't matter much in her angry state – Neal took a breath: "I'm sorry, for everything. But Sara… I _have_ to know."

The torture in his voice took Sara off guard and she was quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say. She contemplated just telling him the truth and get it over with, but she didn't want to just yet. She didn't want to let him off the hook just yet. He didn't deserve yet another easy way out.

"Even if I was, I wouldn't tell you." Her voice was soft, controlled – resembling the soft glow on Neal's left side.

She saw how Neal's back straightened up instantly at her words, how he took a deep breath, how he clenched his hands and unclenched them a moment later. She watched his whole body shift from tired to hurt and she knew that if she looked into his eyes right now, she'd instantly change her mind.

"You have to leave Caffrey." She stood at her bedroom door and held it open as a sign for him to leave. Her eyes never left the ground and when he stopped just inches away from her, it took her all the willpower she had not to look up at him and find comfort in his eyes and tell him the truth.

As he was standing there, just one footstep away from her, Neal didn't quite know how he felt. Or how he was supposed to feel. He just knew that somehow, seeing the color of her hair reassured him. Somehow, the smell of her shampoo calmed him down. And the view outside her window comforted him. He started to shuffle forwards to her, closing the small distance that kept them apart, but stopped when he saw her pull away. She wasn't ready to let him in, and that was fine: He wasn't scared anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Elizabeth had filled the dish washer, gone upstairs to take a long relaxing bath, blow dried her hair and applied some finishing touches to the seating chart of the wedding she was planning for next Saturday. All in all she had left her husband downstairs, sitting in his corner on the sofa, a little over two hours ago. When she came down the stairs, Peter was still sitting in the same spot where she left him. Tapping his foot – probably without him even being aware of it – and staring at the screen of his phone.

She stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame and folding her arms. So many thoughts going through her mind right now, but she could only focus on how to help him get through his anxiety. Finally she cleared her throat, demanding his attention.

Peter looked up at his wife and could do nothing but smile at her vision. In some ways it surprised him that she could still amaze him after twelve years of marriage. But when you have a wife who is so much more than a pretty face, so much more than a great mind and so much more than a brilliant heart, it wasn't that surprising. "Hi hun."

"Hey." She replied and walked towards him, taking place in his arms and resting her head on his chest. She heard how he finally released the breath he was keeping in for God knows how long, and was glad that she could at least offer him that comfort. "What are you doing?"

"It's been three days, El… What if something happened?"

She turned her head up to look into his eyes: "Hey, don't think like that. It's _only_ been three days since you first tried to contact him. Who's to say you even reached him at all? And if you did, you have no idea where he is or was, maybe it just takes him this long to come back. You know he can't take the normal routes anymore. Besides, Neal's smart, he'll be fine." She tried her best to sound reassuring in order to comfort her husband, but in all honesty, she was a little worried herself. Yes, she was the optimistic one and yes, a great part of her truly believed her words. But being an optimist didn't take away being a realist, and there was always a chance that Peter was right… What if something _did_ happen to Neal? Or Mozzie?

Even though Peter thought of all of that himself, it was nice to hear someone say it out loud. Well, not really that loud: they still had to whisper most of the time when talking about Neal, as Peter was still worried that the FBI had bugged his house in order to find a lead on Neal. After what had happened with Fowler and the music box, and even Kramer, he found out first handed that the bureau can even play dirty with one of their own if it got too personal.

Peter knew he couldn't stop worrying, but he had to at least try to make his wife stop. So he took another deep breath, put his phone in his pocket and wrapped his arms tightly around his wife. "Thank you." He said simply, after which he felt Elizabeth plant a kiss on his arm: "Anytime."

Elsewhere that evening, in Brooklyn, Sara felt incredibly stupid. Frustrated with herself, she hung up her cell phone and contemplated calling her home phone-number again. Why was he always around when you didn't expect or _want_ or _need_ him, but when you're actually trying to reach him, he's vanished. She grunted with frustration and ignored the cab driver who raised his eyebrow at her.

Finally, she decided she was going to try her home number again, feeling silly this was even an option: in order to contact an ex boyfriend who thought she was pregnant, she had to call her own home number because she suspected he had broken in again.

After her answering machine gave her a clear beep she cleared her throat: "Neal? It's Sara… Look, if you're there please pick up. We need to talk." She waited for a few minutes, unsure what she was expecting. She wanted him to pick up, but if he did, that would mean he got inside her apartment again and she knew she wasn't going to be thrilled about that. When no one answered she finally hung up with a sigh. Great, now he could be anywhere and he doesn't even know the truth. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the edge of the backseat, while kicking herself mentally.

Then all of a sudden a smile crept up on her face as she could almost do nothing but laugh at how this day has been so far: For as motivated and determined – to close a case – she wake up this morning, to how happy and satisfied she was feeling this afternoon, to how frustrated and exhausted she felt right now.

By the time the cab had pulled over and stopped in front of her building, Sara had decided to change into comfortable PJ's, go straight to bed and forget all about everything that had happened after 5 PM today. She got out of the cab, paid the driver and turned around to walk up the stairs to her apartment when she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Caffrey," as surprised as she was to see him sitting on her steps - waiting for her with his elbows on his knees and his head rested in his hands - after still feeling humiliated about calling her own home number to reach him – and failing – she was determined not to show it. "I see you have found it in your heart to not break in again?" She pulled her bag over her shoulder and walked up to him, standing right in front of him, but seeing nothing but his fingers tangled in his hair.

Finally, Neal put down his arms and slowly looked up, meeting Sara's eyes. And then she saw it: The once ever so charming conman, quick and slick, brilliant and witty, gorgeous and fierce, was now merely a ghosted memory. Instead she saw a tired, confused and distraught young man.

She could almost physically feel how the anger and frustration ebbed away and made room for compassion. She walked up the stairs and sat down next to him, putting her bag on her other side. She pulled up her legs and rested her folded arms on her knees.

"You look terrible." There was no hint of sarcasm or spite in her voice; it was soft and maybe even a little worried.

"Sara-" he started, but was soon cut off.

"I know, I know – 'you _have_ to know'" she quoted his words from earlier this evening. He nodded briefly and she continued, figuring it would be best to get it over with. Keeping him in the dark wasn't exactly her proudest moment.

"I'm not pregnant Neal," she stopped for a moment to study his expression. To look for the relief or the sudden uplift of his spirits, but instead she saw nothing. He nodded again and turned his head around, his eyes focusing on the steps – she figured it was to gather his thoughts.

"Well, don't be so happy about it."

Neal managed to crack half a smile for a second. Of course he was happy: He was nowhere near ready to be a father. But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel… disappointed? No, that wasn't exactly it. He knew having a child came with so much more responsibility than he could ever offer at the moment, and he wouldn't wish that upon any child or mother. But there was a certain lack of the relief he was supposed to be feeling, that he just couldn't put his finger on.

"But Peter said he saw-"

She cut him off again: "Yeah, you're gonna have to explain that one to me: How the hell did Peter contact you? And when? And… how?!" Sara had already made the link that it was Peter who told Neal seeing as how he was the only one to even see the pregnancy test, she just didn't know how and it was driving her crazy.

"First answer me this: if you're not pregnant, why was the test positive?"

She nodded; as bad as she felt to reveal someone's secret, she owed him this much. Besides, she was almost certain that they wouldn't mind.

An almost unstoppable smile spread across her face and she shared: "Because Elizabeth is!"

Neal felt how his exhaustion made immediate place for excitement. "_What_? Does Peter know? I mean, _what_?! I thought… I thought they didn't want kids?"

Sara couldn't help but share his excitement, after being the only one to know for the last couple of days, she was glad she could talk about it with someone else.

"Yeah, me too, but she is. We had lunch earlier this week and she told me she thought she was pregnant. We went and bought a few tests and they were all positive. She still needs to see an obstetrician, but she wanted to tell Peter first."

"Has she?"

"Well, you just traveled, I don't know how many miles, because Peter thought _I _was pregnant, so no, I don't think she's told him."

"Oh my God, this is… huge. Peter a father," he couldn't but smile bright at that thought, "this is great."

"Yeah, it is. I'm sorry you came all the way back for nothing though." It wasn't her intention to darken the mood, but for some reason, Neal's smile suddenly faded and he was looking down again.

"Don't be, I'm glad I'm back. If this whole pregnancy scare has been good for something, it finally made me realize I don't want to run anymore. I don't wanna run away from or towards anything, but here."

"Then stay."

Neal looked up again, surprised by her reply. Did she really just tell him to stay?

"I'm serious Neal, stay and fight back. At some point you won't be able to outrun yourself anymore. And, yes, ultimately, it _is_ yourself that you're running away from. At some point you're going to have to face the music and just hope and pray that even though it might get out of tune a couple of times, it still ends nicely."

He took in her words; they weren't words he hadn't told himself before, but hearing them from her made it real for some reason. Real enough he wanted to believe in it, anyway.

"I hope you're right."

He got up, straightened his khaki's and held out his hand to help Sara up.

Now that they were standing face to face, both of their guards down as much as they would let them, both of them emotionally tired and in desperate need of sleep, it was hard not to feel the longing for each others company.

Sara was the first to clear her throat and make sure there was some distance between them. Knowing he couldn't go back to June's just yet, she asked: "Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?"

Neal smiled and knew that one word would answer her question: "Mozzie."

Sara let out a soft laugh. "Of course. Well, goodnight."

"See you tomorrow?"

Knowing she couldn't stop herself from being happy at his confirmation – that he was in fact staying, and not running away again – she smiled: "Well, you still owe me the story of how Peter contacted you, so, yes. Your treat, Billionaire."

Neal didn't even try to hide his confident smirk. "Deal. Goodnight."He waved halfheartedly and walked down the stairs.

"Sara?"

She turned around: "Hm?"

"If… If it _were_ you, would you tell me?"

Knowing what he was getting at by asking this question, she took a moment to form the right answer. "Yes, Neal, I would tell you. I think – when and _if_ you're ever ready – you'd be great at it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

"Bye hun." He kissed his wife quickly on the lips, turned around, gathered his files and raced towards the front door.

"You, be good today." He pointed a stern finger at Satchmo who followed him to the door, he let out a short whimper as if to say "yes" and Peter bent down to give a quick goodbye-pat on his head.

Eager to bury his thoughts in work today – forget that he was worried about Neal and, yes, even Mozzie – he rushed to his car. He had already thrown the files on the passenger seat, taken place behind the wheel and started the car when he suddenly felt something pressing into his leg.

Peter frowned when he discovered that whatever was bothering him, was a burner phone. Hiding it between his legs and underneath he steering wheel, he turned it on, hoping the agents wouldn't see what he was doing. What he found, was an unread text message:

"_Forget not the despair,_

_that soared the air,_

_that night you found,_

_me on the ground._ "

Peter smiled carefully, trying very hard not to grin widely – or even let out a laugh – as the US Marshalls were probably still watching his every move.

The tight leash of worry and anxiety that had but left visible marks around his neck, instantly loosened and he felt like he could finally breathe again. The breath of fresh air seemed to unknot his stomach and relax his body: It was him!

It had to be Neal: He sent him a message he knew only Peter would be able to decipher. And that, he did. Peter knew where he could find Neal. A place only him and Neal would ever know the true meaning of: The place where Kate had told him goodbye by leaving an empty bottle of 1891 Bordeaux. The place where Peter arrested him for the second time. The place where Peter for the first time started to respect Neal not only for his intelligence, but also for his heart.

Neal had contacted him and told him exactly where to go – without having to use the exact words. Peter then felt a wave of understanding wash over him as he now could relate to how Neal must have felt with his anklet: watched.

Under constant scrutiny, his every move, his every step, his routine carefully mapped out – just case something out of the ordinary happened.

He felt that there were eyes wherever he was, and there probably were. He felt distrustful towards new people; the new cashier at the grocery store, the substitute mailman, El's new clients. Even with Peter's experience and good eye, he still felt like he couldn't catch all the undercover agents, spying on him, his wife, his marriage: His life. He felt understanding. He understood now. And he hated it.

A quick glance at his side view mirror revealed there was at least one black SUV parked a few meters away, on the other side of the street. A look at his other side view mirror revealed a "neighbor" he'd never seen before, walking a dog.

Peter drew a breath and swiftly drove off, thanking God under his breath that there was no car glued to his bumper this morning. He quickly calculated his chances and came to the conclusion that no matter how fast he'd outrun his tail, he would be too easy to find in his car.

He drove the usual route to the FBI building to throw off suspicion, and even try to bore the Marshalls that have been tailing him for the past couple of weeks, by driving annoyingly slow. It was the same morning traffic that made his blood boil, his veins pulse almost visibly and his mood darken immensely, the same morning traffic that he now praised and tried really hard to get in the middle of.

When Peter finally reached the end of the Brooklyn Bridge, a quick look around had convinced him he'd gotten rid of them for at least a few minutes. This was his chance. As quickly as he could, he maneuvered through the morning traffic – the praising now making room for the ever so known cursing – and eventually got back on the bridge to Brooklyn again. Only this time, he was driving as fast his car and the traffic would let him.

His mind was working quickly, calculating his best chances. A smile crept across his face as he was remembering how he hadn't been challenged like this in a long time; he liked it.

Once he drove around Prospect Park, Peter parked his car near Parkside Avenue, took off his suit jacket and shirt, leaving only a white t-shirt and grabbed his baseball cap from the glove box. He stepped out of the car and effortlessly disappeared in the crowd that was moving towards the metro station.

"I'm sorry for the unconventional methods."

Peter immediately reacted to the voice and when he narrowed his eyes, he could vaguely distinguish a figure in the dark alley that separated Kate's old building, from the one next to it. But the voice, yes, it was definitely Neal's. He took a quick look around his shoulder before walking towards him.

Before anything was said – or had to be said – looks were being exchanged. Eyes that said "I'm sorry" and "I'm happy" at the same time. Unstoppable grins that said more than the words "It's good to see you" ever could.

Words were not needed as everything was said with one look, one smile and one hug.

"I never thought I'd say this, but it is actually good to see you, Neal."

"Ouch. Never?" Hearing Peter's voice now, Neal realized how off it sounded in his mind whenever he'd let himself think of Peter while he was away.

Peter let out a short laugh – he wasn't sure though, if it was because of Neal's feigned hurt, or because he could finally hear his voice again.

"How have you been?"

In reply, Neal rolled his eyes and sighed. "Long story."

Peter's face grew serious now, remembering the reason Neal came back: "I'm sorry, for a second there I forgot about Sara and... - I still can't believe it, but… Have you seen her?"

It was harder than he thought it'd be to keep this secret from Peter, but knowing it was a good kind of secret and not wanting to spoil the surprise, he tried his best to feign shock. "Yeah, I went to see her first thing," he remembered how he picked the locks on her very secure bedroom window and broke in, "it was… interesting."

Peter raised his eyebrow: "Interesting?" That was not at all the reaction he had anticipated. He thought Neal would be shocked, stunned, too dumbfounded to say anything or even think. Maybe he'd even be angry. But interested?

"Yes, we talked."

"About?" Peter pushed.

"Well, among other things… about me staying."

He shouldn't be surprised at that, it was after all why he had contacted him in the first place, but still his mind was racing with possible outcomes of this decision. Would Kramer still go after him if he knew Sara was carrying his child? Peter would love – more than anything – to believe that his former mentor could portray the kind of decency he once thought he owned, and leave this family to be alone.

But maybe Kramer wasn't his biggest worry now: Despite everything, in the end Neal _did_ cut his anklet and he _did_ flee the country while serving out his sentence. No matter how you looked at it, this was going to have serious consequences.

"What are you going to do?"

Neal inhaled deeply and pulled one hand out of his pocket and placed it in his neck, rubbing it gently. "I don't know honestly, I was hoping you could help me out with that part?"

Peter waved his hands – of course he'd help him, but that was not what he was referring to. "The baby, Neal. What are you going to do about the baby?" His voice was stressed with urgency, but probably more because he was dying of curiosity. "Do you even know if it's yours?" He knew that wasn't a fair question, but hey: It's been two months since they broke up and… Sara is attractive and… this is New York.

His question earned a raised eyebrow and a disturbed look from Neal, but he then simply replied: "I'd be very upset if I found out I traveled two days through the lowest levels of Earthly hell, for a child that isn't mine. Seriously, Peter, you wouldn't _believe _what I-"

Peter smiled, though not at what he said, but at the habitual ease of just being Peter and Neal. "No, no, no, don't you change the subject, and don't dodge the question. C'mon, tell me what's going through your mind right now? Are you still processing? Has it still not gotten to you? Do you not get it? You seem… calm." Peter's incredibility at Neal's calm attitude made his nose crinkle and his eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Amazing how many questions you can use to ask one thing."

"Neal." Peter's stern voice was almost enough to convince both men that the past few weeks didn't happen. That they were not in a dark, small alley – risking getting caught – because they _had_ to, but because they _wanted_ to. Because it's just that kind of day. Because the case they're working on requires them to be.

But neither men were so naïve and no matter how relieved or happy they felt right now, it was the still before the storm and they both knew it. And they're both savoring it.

"I don't know… yes, no and… not yet," he quickly answered Peter's question with a sigh, he really didn't want to lie – not now – but he had to: "I don't know what's going on because I don't know what to do next. And that's a first. And it's scary, but… I knew this was my home, even before I left. It took leaving it in order for me to realize I wanted to fight for it. I don't wanna run anymore Peter. I'm staying."

Peter put a firm hand on Neal's shoulder, pride and joy filling his chest, leaving almost no room for worry: "Then stay. And we'll fight."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

That night, a happy Peter had come home. A Peter who had forgotten – even if it were for just a few hours – the trouble he was in, and definitely _would_ be in some time very soon. A Peter who, for this time, didn't mind the black SUV with tinted windows that followed him around and parked a few meters away from his house. A Peter who was eager to go home, kiss his wife and tell her Neal was back. The thought of her face lighting up at that news only brightened his mood.

He walked up the steps to his front door and opened in. "Honey?" he called out while quickly closing the door and entering the living room. He was then caught of guard by what he saw.

A few feet from where he was standing he saw their dark dining room lit up by the candles on the beautifully decked table. A deep red tablecloth covered the table and placed diagonally on it was a smaller, off white, squared cloth. There was a candleholder, shaped like an abstract pile of twigs, filled with deep red, lit candles. He recognized their wedding china and was surprised that instead of wineglasses, there were regular drinking glasses next to the plates- with beer! Oh, and the food smelled delicious.

His wife then appeared from the kitchen and smiled at her dumbfounded husband. "Hi hun, welcome home." She walked up to him, planted a kiss on his lips, and took his hand into hers, guiding him towards the table.

On his way, Peter managed to articulate a "Hi, hun," in his turn. Het lets himself be seated on the chair, but when Elizabeth was about to put his napkin on his lap, he stopped her.

"El?"

"Yes?"

"What- what's going on?" He hoped he hadn't insulted her, he was just really curious.

Luckily, she smiled and placed her hand on his cheek, rubbing it with her thumb. "I have something to tell you."

Peter then remembered he had some news of his own to share and for a moment, he was worried she already knew and that's what he owed tonight to.

"So do I."

"Well, you go first then."

As much as Peter wanted to tell her, he was just too damn curious to find out what news his wife was talking about. "No, no," he quickly glanced over to their phone, knowing Elizabeth would get it, "you go ahead."

Elizabeth nodded and suddenly felt not so sure about the speech she's prepared for tonight, "You wanna eat something first? You probably do, you've had a long day. I'll go get the soup, be right back!" and then she disappeared into the kitchen again.

Her nervous rambling, though cute, had made Peter even more suspicious. He put his napkin back on the table and followed her into the kitchen.

"El?"

"Hm?" She tried to sound as casually as she could, but her high pitch gave her away.

Peter walked over to her and put his hands over hers, slowly and gently releasing her fingers from the ladle. He then turned her around, placed his arms on her lower back and with narrowed eyes, analyzed his wife's expression.

"Talk to me, what's going on?"

She took a deep breath and looked into her husband's eyes. She knew he wouldn't be mad, disappointed or sad, but she couldn't help but feel unsure. Well, obviously, it's not like this has happened to them before: After twelve years, El almost always knew what to expect from her husband. Not knowing now, was both exciting and terrifying at the same time.

"Okay, okay," she mumbled, mostly to herself, and then looked up into his eyes, "Honey, we're… we're pregnant!" It was like those words inevitably came with flutters in her stomach and with a bright smile on her face. She couldn't help but be ecstatic about this pregnancy. Of course, of course; they hadn't planned it and they had discussed about not having children, it was a conscious choice. But now, there was this baby – _their_ baby – growing inside her and it was all she could do from jumping up and down with joy.

Peter heard the words, but for a moment didn't know their meaning. He stared into her eyes – not looking, not seeing, but just directing – as his brain seemed to be jammed for a moment. Elizabeth's nudge seemed to shake him up a bit and put things back into motion; slowly but surely, her once empty words gained meaning. Pregnant… _preg_-_nant_. Them. They were. Pregnant.

Wow.

That night, a very content Neal was lying on his mattress. His hands were folded underneath his head and he was staring at the ceiling with a smile on his face: Today was good.

For just the moment, he let himself enjoy and savor the good, and try to forget the bad.

He had seen Peter today; the friendly enemy who had become his friend, his mentor and even his family. The person who had been chasing him for years with the one goal to put him in jail, had – in only two years time – become the person who would fight to keep him out of it.

But that wasn't the reason why he was happy to see him: Neal had missed him. He would never admit it, but he had missed acting irresponsibly around him and knowing he would always be there to rescue him or set him straight. He had missed the reason that Peter would – sometimes subconsciously – give him in times he needed it. He had missed the admiration he felt for Peter's respect for the law, for his dedication to his job, for Peter's choice of life, his marriage, his home.

He had also seen Sara today. He'd given Peter a message to pass on to her, knowing only she could decipher it. She came to visit him and they had lunch. Nothing happened, but it was good to just be around her again. To feel familiarity and comfort, things he had missed while he was gone. Things he would appreciate more from now on. They laughed at stories of how Mozzie's literal translation of his enigmatic English to Spanish had, unintentionally, scared most people away. And they daydreamed at stories of the beautiful view he woke up to every morning. He had noticed her distance, for sure, but knew that he couldn't expect otherwise.

Yes, today was really good.

Neal hadn't realized he was slowly drifting off to a calm sleep until he heard the knocking on the door. His heart raced and for a moment, it seemed the lump that had formed in his throat was going to suffocate him. His mind was racing to try and remember the escape strategy Mozzie had given him – just in case. He quietly got up from his lying position on the mattress and bent down on his knees and hands to look under the door. By the shadows he could tell there was only one person on the other side of that door, and his heart somewhat calmed down.

Then came the second, much softer, round of knocking: Da-dum, Da-dum, Da-dum. Neal let out a relieved sigh and laughed at himself while standing up to open the door.

"Couldn't stay away?"

"I find comfort in the fact that people here don't tend to give you strange looks and walk away when you recite poetry."

Neal let out a short laugh at the hidden message behind Mozzie's words: He had missed New York as well, though he'd never admit it with those words.

Mozzie stepped into the apartment and looked around for a moment before turning around to face his friend - who had closed the door and turned around himself. He tried to analyze Neal's facial expression, his eyes, his mood, before he would ask the questions he's been dying to know the answer of.

"So… Is it true?"

Neal raised his shoulders and gave Mozzie a confirmative nod before relaxing them again.

"She's really pregnant?" Mozzie's voice was high with surprise at the confirmation. Even though he knew, having it confirmed was something different.

At this, Neal nodded again.

"So… you're staying?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know. But I got Peter on my side…. And Sara."

"Really? She didn't try to kill you when she saw you?"

"Well, she did throw her brush at me, but I'd hardly call that an attempt on my life. Plus, I was, at the time, merely a figure in the darkness of her bedroom." His mischievous grin was an answer to Mozzie's amused "aha"-look.

"What did she say?"

"She said that even if she was pregnant, she wouldn't tell me."

"Ouch"

"Yeah."

"Wait, I don't get it… Then how do you know if it's true?"

Neal decided he has had enough fun, he tried to stop his smile that instantly wanted to spread across his face at the thought of Elizabeth's pregnancy. "It is Mozz, only… Sara's not the one who's pregnant," he stopped then, for himself; to enjoy Mozzie's expression, and for Mozzie; to let him absorb his words, "Elizabeth is."

"Wait- what? How? I…. But then why did the Suit-? I mean…" he tried to search for the right words and the right order to ask his questions. Instead he threw his hands in the air in defeat, and concluded that, in this case, it'd be best to just listen, "Okay start at the beginning."

Neal smiled: Having Mozzie back filled the one missing spot that just fifteen minutes ago, stopped him from being completely happy. Now, however, he could fully breathe again: His family was complete.

That same night, a very conflicted Sara was staring at her TV screen. Images of Grace Kelly in the arms of her lover in the movie "Dial M for Murder" danced before her eyes, but her mind was nowhere near the tragedy that was surely going to happen.

Instead, her mind had filled itself with images of Adam – of her and Adam together, laughing and flirting while working on cases. The Organized Crime detective that had helped her out in cases for almost a year now, had recently made a move and asked her out three days ago. And she had accepted, thinking it was time to try and walk the straight line in her romantic life. Under the impression that maybe the reason her previous relationships didn't work, was because her exes were on the wrong side of the law. And, yes, she had accepted under the assumption that Neal was gone, for good.

But then there was Neal, occupying the other half of her mind, who was now back. And who was staying. The person she spent years chasing for the one goal to put him behind bars. The same person who, now, belonged on the very short list of people she would do anything in her power for, to save.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when her doorbell rang and her jump almost caused her to spill her wine.

One look at the security screen had revealed that there were three NYPD agents on her steps. What the hell were they doing here? Was Neal involved? Did they find him?

But as reason slowly came to her – for it wouldn't be the NYPD at her doorsteps if Neal was involved, it'd be the FBI and the Marshalls – she drew a deep breath to calm down her pounding heart. She took a step away from the security camera and towards her door, straightening her dress in the process and taking another mouthful of fresh oxygen before opening her front door.

"Good evening officers, how may I help you?" She leaned against her door and showed them her perfect smile.

"Miss Sara Ellis?"

"Yes?"

Then, everything happened quickly; the officer standing right across from her took two quick steps and grabbed her arm, turning her around. Sara felt how her wrists were being brought together and felt the cold, hard steel of cuffs embrace them.

She was under arrest, sure, it wouldn't be the first time her drive and passion for theft recovery had gotten her into trouble. But she knew she would always get out. That there was always someone she could call to get the charges to drop within a matter of hours, if not minutes.

It was for that exact reason that Sara didn't protest her arrest – even though this detective didn't look familiar to her. It was for that exact reason, too, that Sara didn't worry about her fate or how much trouble she was possibly in.

No, the worry came after the cuffs were pressed tight into her skin and she was being handled roughly and the detective's grip around her arm was so tight, she knew it would bruise.

Yes, worry came with the words that would continue to echo endlessly in her mind:

"Sara Ellis, you're under arrest for arson and murder in the first degree. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

"No, wait!"

Neal ignored him and continued his path to open the door. "Moz, it's just Peter, stop the paranoia."

"_What_?!" Mozzie continued, while Peter entered the small flat, "You _gave_ the Suit this address? Is nothing sacred anymore?!" his voice reached the high pitch of astonishment and Mozzie threw his hands up in despair.

"Hello Mozzie, it is great to see you too." Peter was dressed in jogging pants, a black t-shirt, his baseball cap and a fake grin for Mozzie.

"I shall not take offense in your sarcasm, Suit, nor will I _repeat_ those words – _or_ _deny_ them." He emphasized his words – pronounced in a professor's tone – with a pointed finger. "And oh, I plea the fifth." He added quickly before folding his arms and raising his nose in the air in indignation.

Peter smiled; he had kinda gotten used to Mozzie's riddled messages, crazy conspiracy theories and tendency to never admit to anything. He wouldn't say he had missed Mozzie, necessarily, but it was good to have him back around. In moderation.

"What's going on, is everything alright?" Neal was the first to break the silence.

Peter knew he came here to be the bearer of bad news, but wasn't prepared for the sick feeling that started to brew up in the pit of his stomach. He just hoped he could keep his face composed enough to not worry Neal too much.

"Not really, no."

"What is it?" It took Neal one look at Peter's worried face to know whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. Even Mozzie had quickly broken free from his stubborn posture and walked over to where Neal and Peter where standing. Had the feds found him? Where the Marshalls on their way to arrest them?

"Don't worry, it's not you guys. You're safe." both Neal and Mozzie had let out a breath neither of them was aware they were holding in.

"It's Sara. She was arrested last night."

Neal's shoulders relaxed and he chuckled. "What did she do this time? Another silent alarm? I told her to be more careful for those," but as Neal was finishing his sentence, he saw no change in Peter's face. Neal shuffled his foot slightly forward, straightened his back, slightly tilted his head to the left and clenched his jaw. They were all small movements, tiny unnoticeable shifts in his posture, something a stranger wouldn't have noticed. But his friends knew it was his way to prepare himself for whatever was coming.

"She was arrested last night and charged for arson and murder in the first degree." He said the words fast, quick, eager to get rid of them as they were burning on his tongue.

There was a silence, both Neal and Mozzie were taking in Peter's words while trying to assess the reality of them: Was he kidding?! It has to be a joke.

Mozzie was the first to break the silence: "Sara? Murder? Arson? Leave it up to the government to come up with an outrageous joke like that!" Mozzie wasn't sure if his anger was caused by the ridiculousness and incompetence of the government, or by actual concern he felt for the woman he –despite his best efforts- had come to like.

"I wish it was. I went to see her this morning as soon as I received her call."

"I have to see her." Though it still didn't feel like reality, questions had popped up in Neal's mind like bubbles do in a Jacuzzi. Questions he didn't want answered by Peter, but by Sara. He was busy convincing himself he only wanted to see her to have his questions answered, and he would have done a good job too, were it not for the sickening rummaging of his stomach at even the slightest thought of Sara spending her life in prison.

His words caught both Peter and Mozzie's attention as they looked at him with widened eyes.

"Wha-? You can't. You can hardly have a pizza delivered _with_ the door closed. Need I remind you that you are both fugitives and on the FBI's most wanted list. I can't help you, I'm sorry."

In reply, Neal just nodded. There was a way, there was always a way. But he'd work out the details later. Now, after his mind has had time to start wrapping itself around this news, there were some things he needed to know.

"How is she?"

"Pretty shaken up, but good. She's Sara."

Neal half smiled at that; of course she's Sara. She would never let anything get to her. Not even this.

"What happened?"

Peter took a deep breath and straightened his back, "I don't know much, just that she was arrested late last night. She had to spend the night in lock-up, they charged her for setting an apartment in Brooklyn on fire and," he was still having trouble saying the next word, "and _killing_ a family."

Neal tried to laugh at that, "Are you actually hearing those words? Sara would never do that. Why are we even having this conversation? Can't you just get her out?"

"They found her DNA on the crime scene. Her blood was found on the steps."

"That doesn't mean anything, Peter. It could have been planted there, someone could be setting her up."

Neal watched as Peter put his hands on his hips, looked down and played with his lips to avoid having to reply to Neal.

"What? You're not telling me-"

"That I think Sara's guilty? No."

"_Good_. Cause she's not."

"But there is a lot that you don't know about her. And this case… "

"What?"

Peter didn't want to reveal Sara's past without her approval. Actually, he didn't want to reveal Sara's past at all. Her past is exactly where it should be: in the past. But why on earth was he feeling this itch in his underbelly? Why was there a distant, muted voice telling him there was something more going on? Even with Sara being innocent?

"Suit?"

Mozzie's voice reclaimed Peter's attention to the situation and he shrugged, "It's nothing."

"Whatever it is I don't know about her," Neal started, "I'm sure it's not a past of random arson and murder. What's going to happen now?"

"Usually, in cases like these, they try to detain their lead suspects as long as possible," Peter explained and then continued with a roll of his eye and a matching tone, "But, usually, there is a very good lawyer giving the detectives a hard time doing that – Sara, however, doesn't want one," his voice was almost accusingly, "she claims she can't remember anything that happened the night of the fire and a lawyer would only make her seem more guilty."

"Peter, you have to let me see her. I'll go in disguise, no one will recognize me. You know I can do it," He saw how Peter had already started shaking his head and knew he had to give a little extra if he was going to convince him, "Come on, she's the reason I came back," So he altered the truth, it wouldn't be the first time.

Peter stopped shaking his head and let out a sigh, but Neal knew he wasn't there yet.

"Wouldn't you do the same for Elizabeth?"

At this, Peter looked straight into Neal's eyes. Neal had cornered him with the biggest soft spot he has, it was a low blow, but – Peter knew – if he was willing to use it, then he must be really desperate.

"Alright fine, but we'll have to be extremely careful," he warned and then remember just exactly who he was warning and rolled his eyes, "of course you know all about that. I have to go now to not blow my cover. I'll let you know when and how."

"Yes, thank you Peter, you won't regret this."

"I better not." Those where his last words before he left the small flat.

"Alright, Moz, think, think. What do we need for me to be unrecognizable?"

"Only a different universe."

Neal tilted his head and gave his friend a skeptical look in response.

"What? I believe there is something out there watching us. Unfortunately, it's the government."

"Really, Mozz? You're quoting Woody Allen now?"

"Genius is of all eras."

"Are you referring to yourself?"

"I'll try not to be offended by your questioning tone."

"Alright, let's just get to work."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

At this point, Sara didn't even dare to look at the mirrored window in the interrogation room they had put her in. The last time she had seen her own reflection, it didn't do any wonders for her spirit: Her skin was pale, her eyes hollow, her mascara smudged and her lips dry. She was tired, sleepy and hungry, a combination that would have made her lethal to others on any given day. But covering those simple emotions was a thick, almost impenetrable, layer of confusion and fear. It made her sick.

What the hell was going on? For what seems to be the millionth time since she was arrested, Sara tried to gather her thoughts and line up the facts: She was arrested late last night and charged for arson and murdering a family. A tragedy that took place five days ago. She was arrested because they had found her DNA on the crime scene. Why the hell couldn't she remember? Her thoughts went back to five days ago and she desperately tried to remember what she had been doing that night.

Desperation had quickly turned in to anger and frustration and she was this close to kick something when the door finally opened.

Sara looked up and expected to see Adam, who had come to check up on her multiple times since her arrest and had promised to get a "proper breakfast that was not prepared by the people who hate the world". Instead however, a young wary-haired, blonde man stepped in, wearing a cheap, oversized suit. His face was covered with a beard and a mustache and his hat did a good job at covering the parts of his face that were hair-free.

The man closed the door and turned around to walk over to the table. His eyes were facing the floor and though Sara was not at all impressed by his appearance, there was something about him that kept her eyes glued to his face.

It wasn't until the man sat down across from her and looked up to meet her eyes, that she saw it. Her mind quickly made room for a new kind of confusion and with a tight gaze she scanned the man up and down again, not quite trusting herself after the night she's had.

"Is it… you?" she was careful not to say his name as they were, after all, in a police station.

The man smiled and his mustache danced along to the movements of his face. "It's good to see you, Sara."

"Do you have a death wish? What the hell are you doing here, it's all kinds of dangerous!" She kept her voice a whisper but her tone was stressed with urgency.

"Peter's keeping a look out, don't worry it's safe."

"They have camera's, microphones," she said matter of factly, but felt stupid as she said the words; this is Neal Caffrey we're talking about, he knows that! Why was he being so careless?

"Don't worry, all taken care of." He ended his sentence with a wink.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, the confusion, the hunger, the fear, or a combination of all he above, but hearing a familiar voice – _his_ voice – almost made her cry with joy.

Neal saw the sudden change in Sara's face; her tight expression thawed and her eyes glistered with unshed tears. He moved his hands across the table and took hers into his.

"Hey, it's gonna be alright. Peter, Mozzie and I are working on a plan to find whoever is doing this to you. We'll get you out of here."

His hands squeezed hers gently and that seemed to do it; tears that have been balancing on the brim of her eyelids have found their way down her cheeks. In a reflex she freed her hands from Neal's and wiped the betraying tears off her face as quickly as she could.

She recovered herself and when she trusted her voice enough to speak, she said: "I can't remember anything that happened that night. I can't-" She abruptly stopped herself when she felt her voice breaking again.

Neal got up from his seat and walked over to her side, he leaned against the table next to her. "You know, for someone who's deals with psycho's and threats on a daily base, you seem very oblivious to the fact that you've been drugged."

"Fact?"

"Fact."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Why aren't you?" Neal was genuinely confused now, and curious; him and Mozzie seemed to be the only ones convinced of Sara's innocence. Whatever her and Peter weren't saying has almost gotten him worried.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Caffrey," she snorted, trying to mask her own insecurity.

Neal stayed calm, he expected no other reply from her then those exact words. He took a second to force Sara to look back into his eyes. When their eyes finally locked, he continued: "Really? Hm… Care to make a wager?"

Sara suddenly felt amused at his overconfidence. Not because it was so damn sexy, but because he had no idea how misplaced it was. She tried to reflect his confidence and accepted the challenge she knew she won even before it started: "Fine."

"Loser reveals a deep, dark secret."

Now Sara got even more excited. "_Fine_." She was eager to start playing. She straightened her back, crossed her arms in front of her chest and prepared herself for a fun victory.

"Alright, I know you hate paprika, which itself isn't that weird, but you only hate it when it's prepared with it's skin, when the skin is removed, you have no objection to it. And you, for some reason, do like the red ones-"

"We've eaten out, what? Fifty times? Knowing what food I do and don't like doesn't count."

Neal ignored her: "I know you hate it when a faucet isn't turned off right and water keeps dripping… drop… by…slow…single…drop-" he smiled watching her face shift from confident amusement to slight surprise to aversion at the thought and then almost immediately back to confidence – if he didn't know her any better, he would probably not even have noticed. "I know you would even get up out of bed in the middle of the night to turn it off, because it drives you absolutely crazy. I know you hate it when plates from different sets are placed together. You have to have each set of plates on it's own pile, a little neurotic, but I like it. I know your favorite fruit is mango, not by the times you've eaten it –which is no more than other fruits by the way, credit to my own perceptiveness, if I may add – but by all the mango-based products in your bathroom."

Watching her mask of amusement slowly melt away, Neal was surprised that instead of confidence and satisfaction at his victory, he was feeling proud. Pride, not for the sake of the game or winning it, but pride for having found a kind of relationship where he could know all of these little things about one person, and still be surprised he had the knowledge. Yes, maybe it even made him happy.

"Hmm.. let's see, what else do I know?" He pretended to take a while to think before giving his big finish. "Oh," he added. "I know you sometimes hum in your sleep"

Her face showed pure horror at that: "Oh my God, I do _not_!"

"Ooh yes, you do. Not often, but you do tend to break out some fine tunes _while _asleep. Fascinating, really." There he was, smiling his confident half smile, eying her his victorious gaze and radiating his content expression.

He watched her for a few seconds. Watched how she didn't try to show how taken aback she was by his words, how she didn't try to show how touched she was by his words, but most of all; how she tried so hard not to show how revealed and unguarded she was. He finally did it. Her years of experience in hiding her true feelings would maybe have even worked on Neal, if it weren't for the fact that for the last minute, she hadn't looked up into his eyes for even a second. But there it was, the crack in the surface.

"And I know," he continued now, voice soft and stripped from any victory or amusement, "I know you don't want to be, but you _are_ scared. And I know-"

"Okay, stop!" She cut him off. "I get it: you know. You, Neal Caffrey, you know!" To say she was surprised by his words wasn't even cutting it. But as surprised and touched she was, that's how frustrated and confused she is. Why was he even here? Why did he have to know so much about her? Why couldn't he just not know and not care? It was so unfamiliar and the contradiction very frustrating: This was Neal Caffrey, the man who didn't do anything without an angle, without a gameplan. The man to always be on guard around. And the man to always keep at arm's length, no matter how long or well you think you know him. Why on earth was this man here saying all of these things to her? What was his angle? There has to be one right? And yet, she couldn't convince herself there was. This labyrinth going by the name of Neal Caffrey was driving her insane

"You didn't do this, Sara."

"You can't know thát." Sara tried to smile, but could barely pull it off. "Neal, they found my DNA on the crime scene. It was _my_ blood."

"Someone set you up. Is it really that hard to believe?"

This thought has occurred to her, of course, but who?

"I don't remember anything from that night, Neal," her voice covered with desperation, "Nothing, it's all one big black screen."

Sara didn't know what she felt. She was definitely scared. Scared at so many things: the charges, the fact that she would be in jail for the foreseeable future, scared that someone was in fact setting her up, but most of all… scared that what they are accusing her of could actually be true.

Neal couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why was he the one convincing _her_ of her innocence? "So, what? You're just gonna give up?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"But what?"

She sighed desperately. "I don't know Neal, maybe another night in jail will help me remember what happened. I have to find out." She looked into his eyes and tried her hardest to hide her desperation, but with a subject so close to home, she knew her efforts were in vain.

He took a moment to assess her mood. He saw how tired she was, exhaustion was written not only on her face, but in her body language as well. If she couldn't remember what happened, he could.

"That night you took a shower around 5PM, you began singing and dancing to Phil Collins' 'You can't hurry love' around 5:20 – which is something I will definitely use against you at some point in the future," he smiled quickly when he saw his effort at making her smile didn't go in vain, "After which I scared you by breaking into your apartment in the evening. You threw your brush at me and 5 minutes later I was out the door, leaving you to get dressed. You left your apartment an hour later, dressed in an off-white dress and black shoes, which I later found out were for Mr. Miami Vice's benefit. Someone seriously needs to tell him the mullet died with Johnson's career." He pointed his thumb at the door of the interrogation room, referring to her date that evening, Adam.

Having a hard time to keep in her laughter, Sara reacted semi-offended: "What?! You can hardly call that a mullet, he just needs a haircut!"

"Thank you." Deliberately ignoring the meaning of her words, he took them as a confirmation of his.

Her reply was a frown, but she didn't get into that as she had a more pressing complaint: "I can't believe you followed me!"

Ignoring her implications again, he said: "Don't worry, you made it very hard for me. You're good at getting rid of people."

"Hm, I'd be better if I knew I _had_ 'people' following me."

"Anyway. You got inside and left only a little after one hour," he feigned regret, "I'm sorry the date didn't go well."

Now it was her time to ignore, and she ignored his sarcasm. "After I left, I went back to my place, only to find you there, sitting on my steps. How on earth did you get there before me?"

"I skipped the whole kissing-Adam-goodbye part – he's not really my type, I'm sure you'll understand – so I got a head start."

"And then we talked." She felt how her blood was rushing eagerly to color her cheeks a shy pink when she remembered coming clean about not being pregnant. Alright, so, not telling him and keeping him in the dark was probably a cruel thing to do, but this shade of gray wasn't accessible during her black and white rage.

"Yes, we did. Again."

She smiled: "Again."

"I left around midnight, do you remember what you did after that?"

Sara took a breath, trying to remember as much as she could: "After you left, I…" She rolled her eyes up, the way people do when trying hard to remember a particular something, and then her eyes met his again, realizing something: "I remember feeling exhausted, more tired than I'd been in a very long time. I shrugged it off to being tired of a case I closed that same say and the date and, well, you. But…"

She didn't finish her sentence, wanting to take a moment to think about it before throwing it out there, but it seemed in vain as Neal finished for her: "But you think you could have been drugged? Is you being tired the last thing you remember?"

She closed her eyes, wanting to be careful with what she'd say, wanting to remember as much as possible to not, unwillingly, tell lies. But to her dismay, she came to the same conclusion as the other hundred times she went over that night, in her head: "Yes."

Neal got excited at this: finally a lead. Something that could mean something. Something to prove Sara's innocence.

"Alright, this is good, at least now we know someone slipped you something. Do you think you can write down the names of everyone you've been in contact with, that day?"

It was then that they were interrupted by the knocking on the door. Shortly after the door slowly opened, Peter stepped in. His eyes met Sara's and he smiled, almost apologetic, but definitely guilty for not being able to do more to help her.

Knowing how Peter must be feeling, Sara tried to give him her most reassuring smile and greeted him happily: "Hi Peter, what's up?"

"Hey, how are you holding up?" Appreciating her efforts, but letting them slide right by, he ignored her question and asked a more important one.

"I think they gave me the most uncomfortable chair in the entire precinct, but other than that, I'm fine."

Peter took her words in with a nod and a smile and then turned to Neal: "They're getting pretty impatient there, we should get going."

"Alright, be there in a sec."

"Alright," he turned to Sara again, his eyes saying "I'm sorry" but his lips forming to the words: "Hang in there, it's gonna be okay."

"I know."

For a moment, Neal thought he saw something: Peter's eyes shifting ever so quickly to Neal and then back to Sara, with his eyebrows raised and his face questioning. If it weren't for Sara taking much longer than needed to reply and if it weren't for her hesitantly confirming nod and her assuring reply, Neal may not have caught the moment between them and the appearent double meaning of their goodbye would be lost on him.

Sara watched as Peter closed the door behind him and Neal lifted himself up from the side of the table the same time Sara got up from her chair.

"He's right, it _is_ going to be ok. I'll make sure of that."

Hating her helpless position, but secretly enjoying being looked after, Sara just nodded in reply.

Neal gave her one last nod and smile before he turned to walk away, only to be stopped by her words: "Hey, Caffrey."

He turned around half his body, turning his head to the right to face her.

"Thank you. Not just for believing, but for everything… for _'knowing'_" She said the last word with a soft laugh, referring to his words before.

In reply he just nodded and said: "You owe me a secret."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

"How's Sara?" Elizabeth had joined Neal and Peter who were sitting at the dining room table, playing distractedly with their coffee mugs.

"Confused," Neal answered.

"I can imagine, poor Sara," Elizabeth sympathized, "What's your next move?"

Before any of the boys could answer, Mozzie walked into the kitchen, "All done," he announced and then poured the contents of his hand on the table infront of Peter, "one in your phone and the other stuck between the back and the foot of the picture frame on Elizabeth's nightstand."

Elizabeth's nose instantly wrinkled in disgust as she eyed the bugs in the same taste. She emptied the contents of her mug and smashed it on the two, small, black circles on the table, causing everyone to jump in surprise.

"Honey..?" Peter asked with a shocked worry.

"They bugged me." Elizabeth explained simply as she shrugged her shoulders, giving Mozzie a quick smile when he snorted at her pun.

Peter eyes his wife carefully to make sure she was alright – and was reassured by her smile – before turning to Neal, "Did you convince her to lawyer up?"

"There wasn't enough time."

"Damn it," Peter mumbled, "we need to get her some legal protection."

Mozzie coughed.

"Someone who can at least get her out on bail," Neal agreed.

Mozzie coughed louder.

"Someone who she trusts," Peter added.

Mozzie fell quiet and bowed his head after which Elizabeth gave him a comforting smile and a pat on his shoulder.

"What about that guy she works with?" Elizabeth suggested, "I think his name was.. Josh-something.. or, wait, Joshua Hemming. He works at Sterling Bosch' legal department. She's worked with him a couple of times. I'm surehe'll be _more _than willing to help." Elizabeth emphasized the double meaning of her sentence.

"Oh right, Josh!" Peter's mood instantly brightened as he got up from his chair at the table and set course to his wife, "Briljant, thanks honey." He said before planting a quick kiss on her lips and turning towards Neal who was still sitting in his chair, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"You coming?" Peter asked impatiently when he saw Neal remained seated.

"Who's Josh?" Though he tried to sound casually, he failed to fool any of the three people in the room. They knew he was dying with curiousity and was particularly suspicious because of the fact that both Peter and Elizabeth knew about Josh' existence while he didn't.

"Didn't you hear? He's a lawyer working at Sterling Bosch, now let's go, come on." Peter urged with equally urgent arm gestures.

After holding Peter's gaze for a moment, Neal finally got up and followed Peter to the door, mumbling something about not appreciating being treated like a child on his way out.

In the car, both Peter and Neal were so preoccupied with their own train of thoughts that they hadn't noticed how tension was charging the air till it was nearly tangible. Peter was thinking about_ if _and how to tell him about the Sara he'd come to know eleven years ago. Neal on the other hand, was thinking about how and when to confront Peter about the rather strange exchange he saw happening between Peter and Sara back at the prescinct.

It wasn't until Peter had parked the car in the Sterling Bosch underground parking garage that they realized they had gone the entire car ride without saying a word.

"Look, if you're worried about Josh-"

"What was that between you and Sara earlier?" This was not his plan. Neal had spent the last 20 minute ride contemplating possibilities and finally concluding that he should wait untill they were back home before asking Peter. But as soon as the ice had broken, the words just blurted out.

"What are you talking about?" Peter avoided eye contact.

"Oh, come on Peter," Neal sounded insulted, "at least try and be a little convincing."

Under Neal's accuzing gaze, Peter found he could do nothing but take a deep breath and give in. Neal took Peter's silence as green light to push forward: "At the prescint, just before we left, you and Sara… What are you not telling me?"

"Has Sara ever told you how long we've known eachother?"

"No," Neal answered, a little confused as to why Peter would ask him and where he was going with that question, "but you're making me very curious."

"Eleven. I've known Sara Eleven years. I will never forget the day I met her."

"Don't let Elizabeth hear you," Neal replied dryly, "What was so special about that day?"

"It was the day I found her."

"Wha-" This was not what he had expected to hear. Ever. "What do you mean you _found _her?"

Peter took a moment and held Neal's gaze. Though he believed it was time Neal knew about this story, he still felt as if though he was violating Sara's trust somehow. "_Naahh_..." Peter pulled his shoulders up in hesitation and shook his head, "I don't think I should be telling you this. She should. She will, when she's ready."

Peter had already turned his back towards Neal and was about to open his cardoor, when Neals hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

"No, Peter, you can't! You can't just drop a bomb on me and leave me stranded. Besides, she gave you the 'okay-nod', she was obviously fine with it."

"You think?"

"Peter, trust me, that was an 'okay-nod' alright?"

Though less hesitant than before, Peter still wasn't convinced he should be telling this story. Neal popped his eyes in urgent encouragement and Peter finally sighed.

"It was sunday december 9th, 2001-"

"Your first year anniversary," Neal realized.

Peter nodded confirmingly, "El and I had dinner plans, but I was working late that day; we had just made an arrest and needed a confesion out of the guy. It was a little over eight when I finally left the office. I was walking over to my car with a buddy of mine when all of a sudden we hear a voice coming from an alley. It was.." if Neal didn't know any better, he'd say Peter shuddered at the memories. It scared him and Neal knew he had to brace himself for whatever was coming.

"At first we thought it was some homeless guy too drunk to find his way to the homeless centre, but the closer we came…" Peter got stuck on his own train of thought, "We found a girl, lying halfdead in the snow. She was covered in blood and wearing nothing but a nightgown. Freezing cold."

Neal could almost swear his heart had sunk at those words. He didn't understand how he could still feel it beat audibly in his chest.

"Sara?"

"Yes." Peter replied and watched Neals reaction carefully, making sure he was up to hearing the rest of it. Neal's eyes had widened with shock, anger and many more emotions Peter could only understand. His breathing had sped up, probably a result of the adrenaline his heart was busy pumping through his veins. Again, something Peter could only understand. His fists were clenched and his jaw tight, he was bracing himself for the rest.

"Though she was nearly frozen stiff, she kept repeating the words 'she needs to know, she needs to know'. She was in psychological shock." Peter explained and closed his eyes at the memories, "When the ambulance arrived we took her to the hospital where they found burnmarks all over her body. The blood was hers."

"Peter, I.." Neal stopped him. He didn't know why, he just knew he had to stop him. He felt sick to his stumach and the rush of emotions left his head spinning. He couldn't put the girl in this story together with the woman he knows now. The strong, independant Sara he knows. The funny, smart, sexy and damn good at her job-Sara. The only Sara he knows. The Sara he's come to fall for. He couldn't imagine her ever being in any state of traumatic shock or weakness, let alone pain. Hearing this about her made him feel more powerless than he's felt in a very long time. "I don't wanna hear this. I can't-"

Peter heart swelled with sympathy and compassion. He wished he could take Neal's pain away. Make him see that it was okay now; this happenede leven years ago. It's okay now.

But he understood that, for Neal, it wasn't okay and it didn't happen eleven years ago. For him; this is happening now.

"Neal, I'm sorry, but you have to hear the rest of it."

"What does any of this have to do with Sara's arrest?"

"Just hear me out," Peter waited for Neal to give him a signal to continue and when Neal finally took a breath and gave a short nod, Peter went on: "I'll spare you the details, but when Sara had recovered from her shock, we found out that she was looking for her sister, Emily, to tell her-," Peter swallowed hard, "to tell her that their parents had died in a fire. Their house had burned down, Neal."

Now, Neal was sure his heart had dropped. He could feel it beat everywhere in his body; in his legs, in his feet, his hands, his head… His head ached from the beating and it stung behind his eyes.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. It took a moment, but Neal felt how his heart had fell into it's place and it's beating had familiarly centralized in his chest. It surprised Neal that his emotions were dominated by anger. Who was he angry at? Or what? Shouldn't he be feeling… sadness? Condolances and sympathy? Why was he so mad?

"Neal…?" Peter's voice sounded soft and layered with concern as he laid his hand comforting on his friends' shoulder and squeezed it gently, "I'm sorry, buddy, I know it's a lot to take."

Neal took a breath and turned his head to face his friend. He had to do something; smile, joke, shake it off, change the subject - but he couldn't. It was like he couldn't find himself or his next move. All he could do was focus his attention towards Sara.

"I'm fine," he finally breathed out, "I still don't understand what this has anything to do with her arrest?"

"After… you know, Sara was so deadest on finding her sister, refusing to accept she was 'alone'. She never allowed herself time to process her grief. She had all her hopes set on finding Emily and being a family again. She kept following leads that turned into dead ends," Peter squinted his eyes at something in the distance as his memories played out inside his head, "it was almost as if someone was playing tricks with her mind. Every false lead let to feeling another loss and eventually she started using painmeds to deal with her pain. We didn't even notice until she came into the building one day, asking for my help with a lead, and collapsed. Nothing big!" Peter reassured instantly as he realized what his words must have sounded like, "Low bloodsugar, we gave her a coke and she was fine. But it was obvious she wasn't taking care of herself. But she wouldn't listen to us. It took witnessing another fire killing another family for her to snap out of it. For her to finally realize what she was doing wasn't helping anyone, and certainly not herself. She cleaned up, re-enrolled in college and made something from her life. Became the Sara we know today."

Peter's words echoed endlessly in Neal's mind and eventhough he wasn't there at the time, or maybe _because_ he wasn't there at the time, but he could see the pattern that seemed to haunt Sara's life.

"Three fires killing three families in a decade, all one way or another tied to Sara… It can't be a coincidence, Peter."

"No, it can't…" Peter agreed.

"But?"

"But, and I'm not saying that's the case, but _if_ Sara is being set up-"

"She is."

"_If_ she is… Who would do this to her? And why? We don't know where to start."

"We start by getting her out of jail."

Peter took one final moment to assess Neal and when he saw the determination on his face grow, he nodded and the men got out of the car.

* * *

><p>So sorry for taking so long, but, I'm afraid this won't be an exception. :(<p>

Please do leave your thoughts!

Soph


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